


Death by a Thousand Cuts

by Lif61 (UltimateFandomTrash)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Angel Healing, Angst, Animal Attack, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Blood and Violence, Body Horror, Castiel (Supernatural) Whump, Crowley (Supernatural) Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Crowley Tortures Castiel, Dean Winchester Has Trust Issues, Demon Deals, Explicit Language, Forced Nudity, Gore, Hellhounds, Horror, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), I still hurt Sam in this, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Innuendo, Interrogation, Knives, M/M, Mentions of Necrophilia, Mentions of bestiality, Mutilation, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rescue, Restraints, Season/Series 06, Sexual Harassment, Slapping, Talk of Virgins/Virginity, Threats, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence, Torture, Virginity, Virginity Kink, Whump, sorry Sam, sort of but he does it in an antagonistic way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 11:20:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20388853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateFandomTrash/pseuds/Lif61
Summary: Castiel makes a deal with Crowley to keep the demon king off the Winchesters' backs, but it lands him in trouble with their Purgatory deal and his position in the civil war in Heaven. TAKES PLACE DURING SEASON 6.





	Death by a Thousand Cuts

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. This is explicit for the topics that are brought up and for the graphic violence alone. Nothing too sexual happens in this fic.  
2\. I've never written Balthazar until this fic, so I hope you enjoy him.  
3\. A little bit of a part with Balthazar was inspired by F. Scott Fitzgerald. I'll give you a virtual cookie if you can figure it out.  
4\. The Destiel in this is extremely angsty given the tone of Dean and Cas' interactions in season 6. I just couldn't conceivably write them being too sweet with each other without writing them being out of character.  
5\. Pretty sure I screwed up the timeline of season 6 a bit since I haven't watched season 6 since last year, but I just went for it.  
6\. I still couldn't write something without hurting Sam. Sorry Sammy.  
7\. This is my first Castiel whump story. Please enjoy!

“I know you’re hunting them.”

Castiel had flown to Crowley’s prison with all the monsters, locating him in the main dungeon that reeked of blood, and upon entering he saw the King of Hell in a plastic apron, a bloodied knife in one hand and a glass of something alcoholic in the other. There was a monster, a shapeshifter by the smell of it, and they were just barely clinging onto life as they lay strapped to a metal table.

Crowley spun around at Castiel’s entrance, drink sloshing since his movements were quickened with surprise.

“Who, darling?” he questioned, not missing a beat.

Castiel clenched his jaw, glaring at him.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he went on. “Now, if you don’t mind, I'm a little busy adding some memories to uh, let’s see, what shall we call it? My buff box.”

He squinted his eyes at the demon, taking a step closer. It was easy to ignore what he’d said since he didn’t understand what it meant.

“I’m not leaving. You need to stop. Call off your demons.”

“Sorry, but my demons do as they please. As do I. Now leave, you’re ruining my porn.”

Castiel eyed the bloodied room, and the shapeshifter on the table who was nearly unconscious.

“You’re judging me,” Crowley stated. He tipped his head back, knocking back all the contents of his drink, and he placed the empty glass on the metal stand near him. “What about blood and screams doesn’t yell _ porn_, eh?”

Now very thoroughly thrown off track Castiel found himself frowning.

“You’re not copulating with anyone, I don’t see—”

Crowley rolled his eyes and strolled up to Cas, tapping his cheek with the blade, making him flinch. “Forget it. Now why are you here? Spit it out plain and simple and maybe I’ll have a chat with you.”

“I know you’re hunting Sam and Dean.”

Crowley smiled at him, darkness simmering in his eyes, and he went over to start carving up the shapeshifter once more, listening to them wail.

“And why would I do that?”

“Leverage. To use them against me if I mess up our deal.”

“You’re the one running the show, pal. And you look good doing it too. Like I said before — sex appeal.”

Castiel lunged at him, and grabbed his shoulder in a tight grip, causing the demon to cry out.

“I am not messing around,” he growled. “Call off your demons or the deal is over.”

“Ah-ah-ah. You need me.”

He flared his eyes blue, letting his Grace sing through him. “_ Call. Them. Off._”

“M-maybe we should chat.”

“Then let’s chat.”

With a quick flick of Crowley’s wrist, blood sprayed into the air and the shapeshifter was no more.

“Lucky for you I just cleared my schedule.”

Castiel released Crowley, letting his powers simmer down, and he stepped back. The demon went about cleaning up his weapons, but he left them out on the metal stand. It was unnerving that he kept his apron on, but Castiel told himself he was safe.

They had a deal, the two of them. They wouldn’t hurt the other as long as they both searched for Purgatory together. So far they hadn’t had any luck, and no leads on how to open it, but Castiel had to stay optimistic; the war in Heaven was getting worse, and he wasn’t sure how well Crowley was hanging onto his newly received throne.

“So are you really that upset about a few demons tailing your pets?” Crowley asked, wiping a knife off on a reddened towel as he eyed him.

“What do you want them for?”

He shrugged, holding the knife up to examine it, light glinting off the steel blade. “I was hoping I’d get lucky, have a chance to tear their arses apart if you buggered up. But you haven’t buggered up, have you? So no sweet slice of Winchester for me.”

“And by that you mean…”

“Oh, don’t be daft. You know how demons are. A few knives up the jacksie is just our foreplay. I wonder which one of your boys is more masochistic. My money’s on Dean. Bet he shoves all kinds of terribly large things up there.”

“_Crowley_…”

“What, jealous? He hasn’t had you up there, has he?”

Castiel said nothing, drawing closer, hoping he appeared menacing. He wouldn’t stand for this, and his heart ached having to hear the plans his partner had for his friends.

“Oh, or has he?”

“Enough.”

Crowley slammed the knife down, metal rattling and Castiel would’ve jumped if he wasn’t so focused on his goal: getting Sam and Dean safe.

“Fine, you want to quench my thirst for those lumbering dolts? Be my guest. Trade yourself for them, and I’ll have my demons lay off, leave the Winchesters scot-free.”

“You’re not suggesting—”

“I am. Come on, pretty boy. Every demon has it out for your arse. Surely I, the king, deserve a taste.”

Castiel frowned, finding himself uncomfortable and in a situation he hadn’t considered before. At this point he couldn’t decide if the King of Hell was referring to his actual ass, as in some form of sex, or if he wished to torture him.

Maybe both.

“Torture,” Castiel surmised, aghast that his partner would even suggest such a thing.

Weren’t they equals in this? One of them was running Heaven, the other Hell, and they could be tearing each other apart, but they hadn’t, they wouldn’t. And now Crowley was offering up this deal all because he couldn’t have his fun with the Winchesters?

“Ah, so you do have a few brain cells in there. As for me, I’m a bit busy thinking with — how would Dean say it? — my downstairs brain.” He held his hand out. “So do we have a deal?”

“What happens if I don’t agree?”

Crowley made a few dramatic faces as if he was thinking very hard. Eventually he responded, “One of my demons misunderstands an order and I end up with one of your boys for a, uh… playdate. I’ve always wanted a taste of our little Samantha. I’m sure he’d look fabulous in leather. As for Dean, well, I know you don’t want me to touch him, even if I just want a nibble. So _ come on_… deal?”

“Do you treat all your partnerships this way?”

“Only if I particularly like the person I’m partnered with. Or hate them. The choice is yours.”

Castiel was still thinking it over, and Crowley drew his hand back. The King of Hell circled him now.

“Or I take it all back. I’m a busy man. I don’t have time for your dawdling. And I’ll have Dean in here by nightfall trying to see if he can hit a high G.” Castiel growled, and Crowley smirked. “Or you could hit the note for him. I’m flexible, as should you be.” He continued rambling, closing in on his personal space, “I mean that in more ways than one.” The knife flicked his cheek, drawing blood, making Castiel hiss in pain. “Come on, pretty boy. It’s really simple.”

“At this point you sound eager to torture me instead.”

“I’ll take what I can get. Besides, having an angel all to myself?” He eyed him up and down. “Who knows what sorts of things I might discover?”

Castiel closed his eyes, trying to imagine pain. His pain. Perhaps it’d be less shocking when it came to him. As an angel he had been alive long enough to grow used to pain, to expect it, to know it was a part of life.

But to willingly give himself in to it?

Sam and Dean were screaming in his head, bleeding, Crowley smiling that devilish smirk.

He heaved in a breath, and then opened his eyes, responding, “Fine.”

“So we have ourselves a deal?”

“Yes,” he answered emphatically, willing himself to not go back on this now.

Crowley grabbed him by his overcoat, pulling him close, and their lips met.

Something powerfully occult snapped into place as the demon king took pleasure in having his mouth latched to his, and a strong tingling sensation ran over his skin.

He knew now it was too late to do anything about any of this.

Crowley eventually pulled back, patting him on the cheek, and Castiel resisted the urge to wipe his own mouth off with the back of his hand, feeling tainted.

“Clothes off,” he ordered. “I do my best work when they’re in the nude.”

Not particularly caring about that seeing as angels had different values about privacy than humans, he started to strip, eyeing Crowley as he did so. The King of Hell put his knife down and went about undoing the straps on the body that lay on the table, and then he unceremoniously heaved it to the floor where it landed with a meaty thump.

The temperature in the room was low, and he knew a human would be cold, goosebumps standing out on their skin, but there was no such reaction from him. Castiel was barely fazed by being unclothed in front of such a willful entity, but he realized a human would be. Perhaps that meant something important.

He was sure it did.

All of the words Castiel didn’t understand that had left Crowley’s mouth were surely innuendos. Was Crowley going to…?

No. He wouldn’t.

Would he?

Castiel eyed him dubiously, rooted to the spot, and Crowley simply tilted his head, saying, “The table. Get on it.”

Swallowing roughly, Castiel did as he said, feeling sick as he lay down in the blood that wasn’t his. It was sticky against his back.

“Comfortable?” Crowley asked as he started strapping him in place. There was a large leather strap that went around his hips, another his chest, and one for his forehead. And this was along with the usual wrist and ankle restraints. The demon liked to be thorough, it seemed.

“Just do it,” Castiel grumbled, looking past him, eyes catching on the various tools in the room. He’d heal from them in time, so perhaps it didn’t matter. There was a lot he was sure he could handle.

“What, no pillowtalk?”

“I thought that came afterwards,” he told him, remembering something Dean had told him about that word.

“It comes in whatever order I like. I’m trying to enjoy this.”

“I’m not doing this to feed your pleasure. I’m doing this for them. So get on with it.”

Crowley let out a soft laugh and sauntered away to look at his various tools. “Hmm, perhaps you’re the pet.”

Castiel’s skin crawled at the idea. Not because Sam and Dean were human, but because sometimes he did see himself as low as that. They called him when they needed him, and then they went on with their lives.

They only kept him around as long as he was useful.

And he’d seen the way Dean would look at him sometimes, with fondness in his eyes. But how deep did it run?

Perhaps to them he was just a well-trained dog with powers, the family pet that didn’t need to be seen or heard from when he wasn’t helping take down the monsters.

There were drawers on the metal stand that Crowley was rummaging through, and when he came back he had an angel blade. Before Castiel could ask about it, the king said, “Ooh, that struck a nerve. Don’t like being a pet, Pet?”

“Where did you get that?” he questioned, doing his best to tilt his chin towards the blade to show him what he was referring to. He ignored the name-calling, but it sat uncomfortably in his stomach.

“Found one of your buddies upstairs who was _ very _ fond of virgins. He gladly accepted my little bribe and handed one of these babies over. Do you like it? Not as sharp as yours, but it’ll still get the job done.”

Now real fear was in Castiel’s eyes, and he felt it skittering up his spine. Oh, this was going to hurt.

“So, how should we do this? Death by a thousand cuts? Well, I won’t actually kill you — still need you around to keep the angels off my back — but I can pretend, perhaps do a little roleplay. How do you like the part of helpless soldier of God, abandoned by his Father, and sacrificing himself for his two owners? I’ll be the ravishing King of Hell who has a hard-on for suffering. Good, we both know our parts? Let’s get on with it.”

His hand swiftly moved, a ringing sound alighting the air, and Castiel cried out, light and blood pouring from his shoulder.

“One.”

“I’m tellin’ you, man, something’s wrong.”

“It’s Cas,” Sam argued, walking with Dean to the Impala. “He’ll show up eventually.”

They both carried separate cups of coffee, having just picked them up from a little roadside truck. It didn’t seem like much, but caffeine was caffeine, and they’d been hauling their asses around the country looking for Eve and trying to combat her little experiments.

Dean had tried praying to the angel the night before, and he was sure he’d felt someone’s presence, but then he’d been alone with just his thoughts and a brother who mumbled in a strange language in his sleep. He’d been meaning to ask Sam about that, was sure he’d heard it before, but he kept it to himself, especially since the wall in Sam’s mind had been put up. He didn’t want to risk scratching it and bringing it down. It was like walking on eggshells.

And now he wasn’t sure if Castiel was even listening to him.

There was always Bobby he could call, but he was on a case over in Scranton, Pennsylvania tracking down more of what Dean liked to call Jefferson Starships. Distracting him probably wouldn’t go well.

Dean fingered his keys, opening his door with a familiar _ creak_. He took his chance to shoot Sam a displeased look over the top of the Impala.

“Yeah, but I want him to show up now, you know? What the hell is he even up to? He was supposed to take care of something with Crowley last I heard, and now nothin’.”

“What, you think he got to him?”

They were sliding into their seats, closing their doors, and Dean smoothly slid his key into the ignition, listening to the rumble of his Baby as he switched her on.

“I think he’s been off his game since what went down with his pissy older brothers in that fucking graveyard. He been acting strange to you?”

Sam shrugged, giving him an unsure look. “Cas is strange.” Dean pulled back onto the road, and Sam was pressing his lips into a thin line, thinking. He went on, “Maybe we should pray to him.”

“No, I’ll pray to him. He doesn’t come for you, but he does for me.”

Usually he thought Sam would be offended at such a thing since he had been in the past, but instead his brother gave him a smile, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“So he cums for you now, huh?”

“Dude, I just meant—” he began to say, but then Sam was laughing, surely at the way heat crept up Dean’s neck into his cheeks and to his ears. “Shut up.”

Sure, he’d thought about Cas in that way. Hell, he’d thought about it a lot, but having Sam on his back about it wasn’t something he needed. Besides, he was sure nothing would come of it. They were from two completely different worlds, and the rest of Cas’ family were a bunch of dicks, dicks who he seemed to be spending far too much time with lately. Maybe his feelings about them had changed.

Or he could be in trouble.

Dean drove out of the Iowa town — a town that was nearly big enough (and dumpy enough) to be a city — and tried to think no more of it. He even put on one of his Led Zeppelin tracks.

There was a jeep behind them, a Wrangler of midnight blue.

After a few minutes it was still behind them, a couple cars back, but still there. And Dean had made quite a few series of turns. This couldn’t be a coincidence.

“Sammy, you see that jeep back there? The Wrangler?”

Sam turned in his seat, squinting his eyes as he tried to focus on it.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“Been following us for a few miles.”

“Maybe they’re leaving town too,” he suggested.

Dean shook his head, grumbling, “We’ll see.”

So they left the town, headed over highways, and then turned off to a backroad. The jeep was farther back now, but it hadn’t veered from their course.

“Well, whoever it is, they ain’t bein’ subtle. Want to pull over and say hi?”

Sam sighed, looking back again. “What are you thinking? Demon?”

“Could be. Or maybe one of Cas’ friends wanted to keep tabs on us. Either way I’m sick of it.”

“This is gonna be bad.”

Dean flashed the taillights, letting their stalker know that he was pulling over, and he stuck his hand out the window, flipping them off for good measure. They pulled off the road to a patch of dirt, and Sam and Dean got out to get various weapons from the trunk. They both had their pistols, and Dean had the demon-killing knife.

The jeep pulled up by them, and a man dressed in tattered, rumpled clothing stepped out. He had a beer gut, and the dreary sunlight glinted off his bald pate. The stubble on his face had some gray hairs in it.

_ Great, a real loser, _ Dean thought. Maybe Sam would’ve smacked him for instantly judging, but Dean didn’t give a shit. Some people were just losers, in his opinion. To others he was probably one too, but did he give a rat’s ass about them? Not really.

“What can we do for you?” Dean asked, smiling at him, trying to be all cheery.

“Sam and Dean Winchester?”

Sam flicked the safety on his pistol to off, tensing as the man/possible monster took a step towards them.

“Who’s asking?” his brother questioned.

He gave them an amused smile in return, now standing a few feet in front of them, and he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Was supposed to keep an eye on you, but you caught on quick.”

“Yeah, you’re uh, real good at it, if you want to be spotted,” Dean threw at him. “Now what do you want?”

A shrug. “Nothing really. Just following Crowley’s orders, but I couldn’t just let you two pass by. Saw you pullin’ over, thought I’d step out and chat. You’re onto me after all.” He flashed his eyes black, malice in their soulless depths. “And I can’t have that.”

“What does Crowley want?” Sam asked, leveling his gun at him.

Dean raised the demon-killing knife, putting his leg out to strengthen his stance.

“You two. But not right now.”

“What, he busy jerking off or something?”

“Or something.” He licked his bottom lip, eyeing Dean in a way that plunged hot fear into his stomach.

“Look, it’s been real fun talking to you,” Sam said, “but if you’re not taking us to your king, then I think we’re done here.” Tilting his head back towards the Impala, he addressed Dean, “Dean, come on.”

“Just like that? The Winchesters are gonna leave me out in the wind?”

Dean huffed at him. “You want a blowjob or something too? Get out of here.”

“I could report back to him.”

“Fine, tell your royal highness we’re busy taking out our unfinished business on someone else’s ass. We’re comin’ for him next.”

“It’s _ his majesty_.”

“What?” Dean questioned, hating this demon even more with every annoying word that left his smug mouth.

Sam cleared his throat, and murmured quietly to Dean, “The title. You called him by the wrong title.”

“What?”

“It’s _ his majesty_, not _ royal highness_. That would make him a prince.”

Dean shot Sam a look, telling him he didn’t give a flying fuck, and Sam responded with a similar face, though it stated a much more eloquent, _ Fuck you. _

“Whatever,” Dean grumbled. “Tell him he’s on our hit list.”

“Good. You’re on his. In a way.”

The demon started to turn, heading back to his vehicle, but Sam raised his eyebrows at Dean, clearly not liking what that meant. Dean didn’t like it either.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Sam shouted after him. He grabbed him and slammed him against the front of his jeep. The demon tried to struggle and Sam put his gun to his head. It was loaded with real bullets and they wouldn’t kill the bastard, but they’d hurt like a bitch. “What do you mean?” No answer. “What do you mean?!”

“He wants you if something falls through.”

“Say more,” Dean ordered, taking a stance by his side. The demon’s mouth opened and closed a bit, but no words left him, eyes locked onto the knife that Dean held. “You want to give me a reason to use this?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know, okay? He’s working with someone, someone big. The other folks stopped supplying him monsters, but he cut a deal with someone awhile back. Haven’t seen the other guy, but he leaves the boss riled up.”

“Come on, you know something,” Dean egged on.

“I don’t! I don’t! I swear — _ agh!_” Dean was slicing into his cheek, feeling good about drawing his blood, like it sated a hunger lying deep in him. “Fuck! I don’t know!”

“Dean, he’s telling the truth.”

“He can give us more.” He dug the knife into the edge of the wound and twisted it, helping Sam hold the demon down. “What else? I know you can give us something.”

“The place feels weird after. Tainted. Un-undemonic.”

“Undemonic?” Sam questioned.

He nodded once Dean drew the knife out of his face.

A car was making its way down the road from the direction they were facing in, and Sam spotted it first.

“Shit,” he muttered.

Dean tilted his head to what had his brother’s attention, and he barely held back swearing. They were doing this in too public a place; even a backroad had traffic from time to time.

“We’re gonna let you go, but if we see you again, it’s over. We clear?”

Dean hated having to do that, but he didn’t want to be seen murdering some sucker on the side of the road. He just hoped the demon wasn’t about to go out and mutilate a few virgins and defile their corpses. Maybe this run-in would make him more cautious about what he got up to.

“Crystal.”

They cleared out before the person coming down the road could spot anything fishy going on, and Dean was grumbling to himself: “Undemonic. Undemonic, my ass. What the hell does that mean?”

“He said it felt tainted,” Sam told him. “To a demon _ tainted _ could mean, I don’t know, something holy?”

“So he’s got the angels partnered with him? Think he’s sucking ‘em off on the side?”

“Ew, no. But it’s possible one angel is working for him.”

“Who?”

“Who can’t we find?”

“No. No, Sammy. _ No. _ He wouldn’t.” Sam shrugged, and Dean smacked him on the shoulder. “Think more highly of him than that. Cas has gotten us out of hot water more times than I can count. He brought _ you _ back!”

His brother grimaced. “Don’t remind me.”

“It’s not him.”

“Okay, so maybe it’s not Cas. But we still gotta look into this, right?”

“And tell me, genius, how do we find the King of Hell? You got him on speed dial?”

“Demons can use blood to communicate—”

“No, we’re not killing anyone.”

“I didn’t say we had to,” Sam retorted. “Just need enough to fill a cup.”

“And who’s the donor?” He swapped looks with Sam, and his brother didn’t seem too forthcoming. “We’re rock, paper, scissoring this son of a bitch, then.”

“Dean, you always lose.”

“Yeah, well we’re gonna do it. We get to the next motel we can find and someone’s gonna be the blood bank. It ain’t gonna be me.”

The blood bank ended up being Dean. He lost — he’d had rock while Sam had had paper (how did paper even beat a rock anyway? It was flimsy as fuck) — so now he was sitting on his bed, having his forearm drained into a cheap plastic cup they’d bought at a Family Dollar. It was one of the ones he was sure families used for taking their medicine at night.

“You think he’s gonna answer?”

“He has to. It’s kind of like a summoning, right?”

“And you still remember the spell?”

Sam shot him a bitch face and recited it.

“Nerd,” Dean threw out, not actually meaning to insult him, but just naturally bantering.

“Yeah? Well we’re lucky I know it.”

The cup filled up, and Dean held his hand to his arm, putting pressure on it. “You ready to call the King of Hell?” he asked.

“No.”

“Let’s do this thing.”

Castiel was sure that Crowley sometimes enjoyed taking his time, but he wasn’t with this, just slicing into him over and over again.

“One-hundred-and-three.”

A whimper left Cas as the blade sliced through his skin again. By now he was soaked in his own blood, some of it dry and sticky on his skin, and it oozed from more recent wounds. He’d been crying out, screaming from it, but now he was exhausted. Angels couldn’t get tired, but mentally he felt this wearing at him. Crowley was keeping to his promise of _ a thousand cuts _ so far it seemed, and he was burning and alight with pain, with agony.

He’d already gotten past begging him to stop, knew that it wasn’t working. Crowley had every intention to get what he could out of this.

His wrist flicked, blade slashing through a few cuts that were already marring his body, these ones close to his left hip. Tears ran from his eyes, and they blurred his vision. A howl left him behind clenched teeth.

“One-hundred-and-four.”

Castiel was sure he’d never been so hurt in his life. Well, hurt and still alive. He’d been blown up by Lucifer, but that had brought instant death and he’d been brought back. This was different. This was him being slowly torn apart. And it wasn’t one of his brethren doing this, or a human, or a monster, per se. It was his complete opposite. A demon who had clawed to get to the throne, one who would defile anything he could find. Crowley was the opposite of holy. He wasn’t the Devil, but he had an evil taint that dripped off of him, and filled up Castiel’s lungs with his unholy presence. Usually he could deal with it, especially during their dealings with each other, but now being on the other end of his knife, it was suffocating.

“One-hundred-and-five.”

This time the blade ran from his bottom lip down to his chin, blood spilling into his mouth till he was unceremoniously spitting it out. It simply landed back down on his face.

Castiel wondered what he looked like, if he was even recognizable anymore. The slices were small, Crowley trying to leave room for all one-thousand of them, but he was sure even with his vessel being quite large for a human that there wouldn’t be enough room on his body for all of them.

“You know, Castiel,” Crowley began, “I miss you talking to me. I might as well just put a strap over your mouth if you aren’t going to speak.”

Castiel was shuddering, staring up at him, hating the possibility that he could lose his voice.

“Well?”

“Are you satisfied yet?” he growled out.

The blade severed the flesh on his thigh.

“One-hundred-and-six. Not quite.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, all of him taut against his restraints, and he slammed his head back against the table, as the stinging pain flared through him. It was all over the front of his body, and he wondered when Crowley was going to insist he flip him over to get at the back of him.

“One-hundred-and-seven.”

This time the metal had sliced through the skin over his knuckles on his left hand. Grace rang through the air, a high-pitched note of torment.

“How about we do another spot now, hmm?”

He went over to place the blade on the stand, Castiel watching him intently the entire time, and then he was back, fingers at the edges of the strap about his hips.

“What-what are you doing?” Castiel questioned frantically, wishing he could move away.

“Gotta give all of you my attention, don’t I?”

“N-not there. Please.”

Crowley gave him a smile that might’ve been sexy to someone else under different circumstances, and asked, “Why not? Scared of a demon ruining your angelic cock?”

“Yes, actually.”

“All the more fun for me, then.”

The strap was undone, tossed across the other side of the table, and Castiel hated to admit that he was trembling in fear now. He already hurt so much, but he knew his vessel’s body, even rebuilt as it had been after his death, was particularly sensitive in the place Crowley had in mind.

“Are you a virgin, Castiel?” he asked, hands running over his hips, the roughened tips of his fingers questing and curious.

“Yes,” he growled out, bleeding lip hurting as he spoke more. “And if you don’t mind, I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Scared I won’t be gentle?” he teased.

“I’m not scared,” he lied.

“Then what? Saving yourself for someone?” Castiel didn’t answer, though his mind drew to Dean, and he was sure it was obvious on his face, even with the pain contorting his features. “Don’t tell me you’re actually abiding by those cocked up puritan beliefs just because Dean hasn’t dropped his pants for you. You can have fun in the meantime.”

“I’m not sure what you’re definition of _ fun _ is,” he began, “but I can assure you that for me it doesn’t involve getting touched without my permission.”

“We made a deal. I torture you, the Winchesters stay free. You don’t want to be touched? Then getting touched counts as torture. Of course, I could always get my knife again. Still just getting started with that. Where were we? One-hundred-and-seven?”

“Crowley!” Castiel cried in indignation, his voice becoming rougher and more panicked towards the end as the demon king’s hand traveled to his pelvis.

Suddenly Crowley stopped, hand trailing away, standing stock still, eyes wide and unseeing.

“Bollocks,” he swore under his breath. 

Then a smile alit his face, and Castiel wished he could look around, perhaps see what he was seeing, but he realized even then he wouldn’t be able to. But he closed his eyes, trying to sense it. There was a connection to Crowley now, between him and some unseen being.

“Hello, boys. What can I do for you?”

“Sam and Dean?” Castiel asked, trying to figure out how they’d gotten in touch with him. Despite his age he didn’t know all the secrets of demons and their ways. But Sam and Dean had been on this Earth longer than he, and had surely picked up certain techniques and forms of communication. After all, as a hunter it helped to think like your prey.

“Hush. No, no, not you boys. Who’d you kill to get this line open?” A pause as he surely listened. “Fine. Would’ve been sexier if you dirtied your hands just for me, but I understand you have cold feet. Now get to the good stuff. What do you want?”

There was a longer pause, and Castiel had his eyes open to see Crowley rolling his eyes.

“So dramatic,” he heaved out. “Let’s just do this over the phone. Half a mo’.”

Something was severed, and Crowley came back to himself. “Angel, you got your phone on you?” Castiel’s widened eyes and panicked expression answered, and his sliced up cheek was patted. “Good, thanks.”

The King of Hell rifled through his clothes before finding the phone, and he searched through his contacts before calling one of the Winchesters. They put him on speaker just as Crowley had, which was made evident by the cries of “Cas!” from both of them that followed.

“Guess again,” Crowley told them.

He went and picked up the knife.

“Crowley, what are you doing with Cas’ phone?” Dean asked.

“Oh, he hasn’t told you? The sly bastard. He’s with me.”

Sam: “No, no. Crowley, you’re lying.”

“Say hi Castiel.”

The blade ran across his cheekbone near his ear, and he couldn’t hold back a scream.

Crowley held the phone away, and then leaned in, whispering just for them, “One-hundred-and-eight.”

He snarled at him, but this only seemed to please him, a small smile alighting his face, dark eyes twinkling.

“Crowley, let him go!” Dean’s voice. “Cas! Cas, you okay? What the hell happened?”

“Dean, I’m sorry. I’m—”

The angel blade cut the tip of his ear.

“One-hundred-and-nine.”

Castiel bit his lip, whimpering, and it came out as an undignified “_mm-mm!_” as tears tracked through the blood on his face.

“Sorry, boys, but you only talk to me. Unless of course you want to give me a reason to cut out his tongue. We’re doing death by a thousand cuts, minus the death, but I’m sure cutting his tongue off could count for something. I’ll make it cut one-hundred-and-ten. Do you want to be responsible for that?”

There was silence on the other end, both Winchesters thinking, and it was like he could feel the tension crackling through the phone and permeating the air. All the room needed to blow up was a spark. And Crowley would surely provide it.

“We had a little chat with one of your pals,” Sam eventually spoke. “Said you wanted to keep an eye on us. Any particular reason?”

“I need me some unwilling participants for my uh… personal escorts, let’s call it, and you boys were the prime candidates. Always one step behind me, causing trouble, wiping out my demons. What can I say? I have it out for your arses.”

“Well we have it out for yours,” Dean answered.

Crowley let out a low laugh. “Surely not in the same way. Well, since that’s cleared up, I suppose we have nothing more to talk about. Toodles!”

He pulled the phone away, and there was hurried yelling, attempts to bargain.

Finally: “What do you want in exchange for Cas?”

“Nothing,” Crowley responded. He added another cut to his body, whispering, “One-hundred-and-ten.” Then he went on, “He’s the perfect prisoner. Squeals when I tell him to, bleeds beautifully. I find myself content. I understand why you must miss him. Quite sexy for an angel too. Just needs someone to show him the ropes. I do have actual ropes if he’s into that.”

“And you intend to be the one to show him, am I right?” Dean asked.

“He’s already naked for me.”

“Crowley, I swear to god—!”

With a cheery “bye!” he hung up, not letting Dean finish with his threat. He then put Castiel’s phone in his view. “I think I’ll keep this.”

He placed it in his pocket and it was back to the cuts, the blade now lower, slicing open the skin of his pelvis.

“One-hundred-and-eleven.”

“_Ahh!_”

Dean had already wrapped his arm up in a blue and white bandana he’d had in his bag, and now he was staring at Sam. His brother had taken out his laptop as soon as they’d gotten the call, and now Dean was glancing at him, eyebrows raising in alarm.

“And? You find him?”

Sam shook his head. “Gotta try for longer. Couldn’t trace it.”

“He’s not gonna pick up for us,” Dean grumbled.

Sam tilted his head, an idea alight in his eyes. “Not unless we give him a reason to.”

“You got a plan?”

“Not a good one.”

“Alright, let’s go.”

Instead of wasting time hunting down a demon, they summoned one — just a crossroads demon, but she would do the trick. Her name was supposedly Lily, not that Dean was believing it, but it was better than the “honey, you can call me whatever you want” that he’d first gotten upon summoning her. It’d taken her seeing the demon-killing knife to say an actual name, but now they had her caught in a Devil’s Trap in the middle of nowhere, and no one was likely to come by to screw things up, even out on the road like they were. It was a dirt road, less traveled, the only tire tracks their own. Night was falling now, and they lit up what they were referring to as their “work area” with the headlights from the Impala. They’d gotten a chair and tied her to it. Lily had complied, telling them this was the most fun she’d had in awhile — “my clients aren’t usually so kinky.”

Sam was setting up his equipment for tracking the call on the hood of the Impala.

“Alright, what’s this all about?” she asked, tilting her head at them, flicking her smooth dark hair over one pale shoulder. 

Sure, she’d be enticing in the small, black dress if not for the red eyes and the fact that in his head Cas was screaming and Dean needed to get to him. And oh yeah, the fact that she probably sold babies and virgins on the side. She pouted at him with full, painted lips as if she could tell what he was thinking.

Yeah, she was definitely more Sam’s type. More of a monster.

“Somebody dying?” she went on. “I think it’s your turn, Dean, right? Sammy died last time. He was a screamer downstairs.”

“Enough,” Sam snarled from where he stood hunched over, typing away on his laptop. “We’re making a call to your boss.”

She pursed her lips and relaxed in her seat. “Then call him. I have other customers to satisfy.”

“Honey, they’re gonna be waitin’ all night.”

“You planning on sticking me with something?”

Dean twisted the demon-killing knife, making sure she could see it, hoping bloodlust glinted in his eyes. “You could say that.” Without looking away from her, he asked, “Sam, you ready?”

“Yep.”

“Make the call.”

His brother took out his phone, and dialed the number that had called them earlier, an ironic _ 666_, and it started to ring. Sam had him on speaker.

There was screaming in a familiar voice on the other end that turned Dean’s gut, and then, “Samantha, unless this is you telling me you’ve bought yourself a pair of heels and would like to join in on the fun I’m going to hang up.”

“Crowley!” Dean called, not wanting to risk losing the King of Hell’s attention. “We got someone here who’d like to talk to you. Say hi, Lily.”

When she said nothing he promptly stabbed her in the shoulder. Strangled sobs started up.

“Lily? Is that what she’s calling herself now? Well, in that case, I’d really appreciate it if you let her go. She has work she needs to be doing.”

“No, I don’t think so. You know how it is. Sam likes to fuck demons, I like to kill ‘em.”

“Dean,” Sam snarled.

Dean shrugged, trying to let him know he’d only said it to keep him on the line longer.

“Now, is that really necessary?” Crowley asked.

“You have something that belongs to us,” Dean answered loud and clear, letting his voice get gravelly with anger.

He pulled the knife free of Lily’s shoulder, blood flowing, and she fell forward against the restraints, body shuddering and hitching. Dean grabbed her chin, tilting her head back, and he pressed the blade into her cheek, letting the serrated edge slice into her skin, and she squirmed, whimpering.

“Are you suggesting a trade?” Crowley asked. “Your friend is much more valuable than some no-name crossroads demon.”

“Well, Crowley,” Sam said into the phone, “we were kind of hoping you’d be open to negotiation. After all, you like making deals, right? So what’s up? You make one with Cas?”

“Sorry, boys. I don’t kiss and tell.”

There was a pause from both ends, Dean unsure of what to say, and Sam waved his hand in some sort of rolling motion, signalling to Dean that they needed more time. The program on the laptop was indecipherable from where Dean was standing, flashes of colors, and numbers, and various data collection.

Dean said the only thing he could think of, cheeks turning pink, “That’s too bad. I was kinda hoping for a kiss.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Something on the screen flashed green. Sam gave him a thumbs up.

“From your mother!”

Sam hung up the phone and started laughing, Dean laughing with him, Lily looking beyond confused. He had the urge to kill her, just to get out of the embarrassment of her having witnessed those last few moments (and hey, it’d make one less demon on the face of the Earth), but they might need still need her.

His brother texted him the location that was showing up on the laptop, and after checking it, Dean asked, “So what kind of defenses does Crowley have at this place of his?”

“I don’t know. Never been.”

Dean stabbed into her gut, giving her a smile, making sure he got up real close, so close he could smell her breath as she cried out. The metallic scent of her blood streaking down her face wafted into his nose. 

“Want to try that again?”

Each second meant that Castiel was being hurt more. The first time they’d had Crowley on the phone he’d gotten to one-hundred-ten cuts. That’d been an hour ago. He could be in the five-hundreds, or even the six-hundreds by now. Dean wasn’t willing to bet he’d let him go when he got to one-thousand. An angel was something a demon would like to have on hand.

“Hell-hellhounds!” she got out. “He’s got hellhounds!”

Dean twisted the knife, demanding, “What else?!”

“_Mm-mm-hmm! _ A few demons too!” she whined.

“How many?” No answer. “How many?!”

“I… I don’t know.” More twisting of the knife, orange sparking through her. “Ten. Maybe ten!”

“Sam?”

“I believe her.”

“Well, my brother believes you, so I guess we should let you go.”

“Thank you,” she sobbed. “_Thank you_.”

“No problem.”

Dean slashed the knife up through her ribcage, severing it through her lungs, and landing it right in her heart. Lily didn’t have time to scream as she sparked out and died.

“Hang on, Cas, we’re coming,” Dean prayed.

Castiel’s eyes rolled up in his head as he received Dean’s prayer, and Crowley slapped him in the face.

“What’s the matter with you?” he asked.

“N-n-nothing,” Castiel responded.

He’d stayed talking just enough to not be gagged, and for that he was glad.

It would be cruel if he wasn’t allowed to truly scream out his agony. They were into the six-hundreds, Castiel now suspended from the ceiling so Crowley could get all over his body. He’d even sliced into his testicles and his penis, leaving him mutilated. He’d heal, with time, and eventually, given his angelic form, there wouldn’t be scars, but _ oh, it hurt_.

And now Dean was coming to save him from his hurts. But would he even be able to get to him? The place was guarded.

There weren’t angel wardings, and though Castiel was weakened, surely he’d have to try and get out before his friend could arrive. He couldn’t let Dean sacrifice himself for him. The whole point of this was for him to save Dean, not the other way around. It sent blood — what was left of it — rushing into his cheeks, and the enhanced flow of it soon had it dripping from his face more fiercely, coating his skin.

If only Dean was an angel too, so Castiel could respond to him, but he couldn’t conceive a way to communicate with him. Crowley had his phone, and he was restrained.

Still, there was one thing he could try.

“Any chance of calling them back?” Castiel asked.

“Six-hundred-and-sixty-four.” The blade slashed into his tailbone, leaving him writhing. “Not likely.”

“_Please_. I need to warn Dean.”

“Warn him of what? That you won’t be of any use to him in the bedroom in awhile except as a glory hole? Or perhaps that’s the wrong word. Sex doll? Either way only your holes are of any good to him. You think he likes fucking ‘em in the arse? I heard from a very reliable source he’ll try anything once.”

Castiel said nothing, disgusted that Crowley was talking about him copulating with Dean. It wasn’t the idea of being in bed with Dean that was disgusting, but the fact that Crowley was bringing it to mind. The demon king had no business being anywhere near such matters. What Castiel wanted to do with Dean was his own business and whomever he decided to share it with, and he certainly wouldn’t share it with him.

And despite the way the scraping torment chewed on his nerves, his ruined body liked the idea of having sex with Dean. He’d had some different ideas about it, though he wouldn’t mind being on the receiving end either.

The blade separated the skin lower, just at the top of his ass.

“Six-hundred-and-sixty-five. You were thinking about him too much. I saw it on your face.”

“So you needed to cut me?”

“Death by a thousand cuts, dear Castiel.”

Now he sliced into the left cheek of his ass, leaving Castiel grabbing at his restraints, trying to pull himself up and away from his torturer, screeching through his teeth. The ropes and straps shook as he did but mostly they held him in place, and he couldn’t keep himself up for long. He dropped back down, hanging, sore, and tired from how long he’d been suspended from the ceiling like some demented work of art.

“Ah. Six-six-six. My favorite. You know, us demons didn’t actually come up with six-six-six being demonic. That was the humans. You and the boys know it’s sixty-six that you have to look out for, same number as the Seals that had to be unlocked on Lucifer’s little Cage. Guess the humans got bored or stupid (my money’s on both) and added another six to it. We just went along with it for funsies. Now they add it to everything: rituals, social security numbers, dramas with too much blood. They call them horror movies, but they haven’t seen real horror. Imagine if they saw you. They’d faint right away. A hunter might too.”

Castel was sure Crowley was right. He was the true definition of _ horrific_. At this point his body was a bright mass of dripping red, what strips of skin that remained hanging off of him, the bit of hair still attached catching the dull light and reflecting it every so often. His muscles — pink and red through his maimed skin — were torn, proving that he’d run out of room on the surface of his body and he was digging deeper. Crowley was carving him up like a kid who’d been asked to cut the Christmas roast and was excited to finally be allowed to hold a knife. His nails had thankfully not fallen off. The skin by them had been cut, but the nail beds underneath hadn’t been severed, thus they were intact.

Was he put together enough to attempt an escape?

For Dean. He had to for Dean.

And Sam. Surely Sam was with him as well.

But what if it messed up this whole thing? He was doing this for them in the first place, to keep Crowley away from them.

Castiel couldn’t risk it.

But what was he supposed to do?

He hung there, panting, panicking.

They were going to die and it was all his fault.

_ Should’ve left things alone, _ he told himself. _ You always make a mess of everything. _

_ Useless. _

_ You’re useless. _

The angels were talking in his head, just an update on Raphael’s whereabouts, and he was hiding out in Jordan, nothing much for him to pay attention to at the moment.

That was it!

The angels!

Or… one angel in particular.

_ Balthazar? _ Castiel cast out. _ Balthazar, I need you. _

An answer came back almost immediately, the Enochian strained and laced with a powerful emotion that he couldn’t quite decipher: _ I’d love to, dear Castiel, but I find myself a tad preoccupied at the moment. _

_ Balthazar, _ he growled. _ Crowley— _

“Six-hundred-and-sixty-seven.” 

Fire ate at the sole of his right foot.

_ —has me captive. _

_ Oh, goody. Have you seen him naked yet? _

_ Balthazar! _

“Six-hundred-and-sixty-eight.” A T was slashed across the previous cut. “What’s the matter, Castiel? You seem to be thinking very hard.”

_ Like I said… _ There was a long pause in which he was able to distinguish pleasure coming through their connection on angel radio, and it was nearly enough to have him moan. Coupled with the pain it became too much, and he did moan, the sound only for Crowley’s ears, not reaching his friend. _ I’m busy, _ he finished.

“Just imagining how I can kill you once our deal is done,” Castiel lied.

_ Sam and Dean are coming to free me, _ he sent to Balthazar. _ They’ll get themselves killed. _

_ Let them. Those apes never did anything for you. _

“Ah. Pleasant. Six-hundred-and-sixty-nine.”

Castiel was crying now.

_ They’ve done _ everything _ for me. _

_ Fine. And what do you want me to do about it? _

_ Find them. Help them. _

No response.

_ Help me. _

“Six-hundred-and-seventy.”

_ On it, old chap. _

Dean had his foot glued to the gas pedal when an angel showed up in his back seat. He almost crashed Baby into a tree, which would’ve been bad for everyone involved except for the angel who almost caused the damn accident.

He managed to pull over, and whirled around.

Balthazar.

“Get out of my car!” he screeched.

And then he was out, standing by Sam’s window.

Both brothers gave each other a look, wondering if they should just drive away. But he’d follow them. So after rolling their eyes they opened their doors and got out. Only the headlights provided some light, so they couldn’t see much of Balthazar. The angel helped with that by walking past them out in front of the Impala.

His clothes appeared to have been thrown on haphazardly, his hair mussed, and his mouth seemed a bit… wet. Dean didn’t have another word for it.

“Castiel’s in trouble,” he stated.

“Yeah, we know, douchenozzle,” Dean said. “Can we go already?”

“I’m here to help.”

Sam huffed out air through his nose. “Yeah? Why you?”

“Yeah, last time you were around—” Dean cut himself off, realizing he’d almost said too much, and he glanced at Sam. He lamely finished, “Things weren’t lookin’ too hot.”

“So what’s in it for you?” Sam asked.

Balthazar put a hand to his chest, overdramatic as always. “Oh, you wound me. Cassie is a dear friend of mine. And he sounded very serious. He better have been. I was in the middle of—”

“Ew,” Sam immediately got out.

Dean held up a hand. “No. Stop. We don’t need to know. Get in the car.”

He bumped shoulders with Balthazar as he walked past, and he realized something was on his face.

“That toothpaste?” he asked.

“Darling, you wish it was.”

Dean shuddered, not wanting to know more about the angel’s seemingly wild sex life, and slid into the driver’s seat. Balthazar was already in the backseat by the time he was sitting comfortably. He’d wiped off his face, and Dean glared at him, hoping his expression conveyed, _ Don’t wipe that shit on my car. _

Balthazar got the message, raising his hands to show innocence, or perhaps feign it.

“Now, boys. Let’s go get Castiel. I’m sure being Crowley’s little toy isn’t much fun.”

Death by a thousand cuts. Dean was hoping they weren’t too late by the time they got to Crowley’s compound, or whatever the hell it was.

_ Stupid, stupid, stupid! _

_ Castiel, why? _

Somehow, Dean was sure he almost felt an answer from the angel, but it wasn’t anything he could make sense of.

Really, Dean knew it was cruel of him to be blaming his friend. Castiel surely had his reasons for whatever he’d done to end up in Crowley’s clutches.

Crowley was the demon here. He was the one doling out the suffering, and Dean had to be mad at him.

He was.

Luckily for Dean he knew how to multi-task. Worrying about Castiel and wanting to punch Crowley’s face in till he saw brains were two things he could easily juggle.

They’d all gotten out of the Impala, and were crouched down by an overlook. The building they were scoping out now was rectangular, built of brick like it used to be an old warehouse or factory, and it was ringed by a wire fence. From light filtering out through the windows guards could be seen walking around outside, seemingly bored with their charge. So far they’d only spotted three of them, meaning there were seven others in or outside the building. There could be more if Lily had been lying, or if she’d had bad info, which was also a possibility.

“Alright, feeling ready to head in?”

“Yeah, looks good.”

“Alright, Sam, you get the weapons. Balthazar—”

Dean had started rising, about to shoot the angel an order, but he grabbed his arm.

“They’ve got company.”

“What?” Sam asked, already standing, and now turning back to look.

Balthazar signaled for him to get down, and Sam dropped, now looking with them.

“I don’t see anything,” he murmured.

“No, you wouldn’t. It’s a hellhound.”

Dean growled under his breath, and then he whispered, “Fuck. I know she said they’d be here, but I was kinda hoping— Balthazar, you got your angel blade on you?”

There was no answer.

“Balthazar!” Sam whisper-shouted at him.

They looked over to the angel, and he shrugged, giving them the opposite of a helpful look, seeming to be feeling none too guilty about the situation.

“Sold it for quite a few virgins.”

They stared in disbelief.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you correctly. You sold it for _ virgins_?”

“Oh, _ come on_,” he intoned. “It’s dry up in Heaven, and virgins have a um… _ ethereal _quality about them. You wouldn’t understand, Dean. Cassie’s told me how you feel about virgins. Sam, what about you? You get me, yeah?”

“I get that I want to stab you in the face right about now.”

Balthazar dramatically fell to the ground, head lolling against his out-stretched arm.

“How does he have any fun with you boys?”

“So what are we gonna do, hmm?” Dean asked, tongue out between his teeth as he eyed their extremely unhelpful companion. “What were you planning? Were you gonna go in there, show ‘em your dick and hope they run away screaming?”

“I’ll have you know, no one who sees my cock runs from it.” 

He winked at Dean, and Dean couldn’t help blushing.

He cleared his throat and shook his head a bit, blinking and frowning to try and get the image out of his head. He was sure Sam was doing the same thing, though with his eyes widened as he often did, ever so dramatic.

“Yeah, we’re gonna need more than that. I don’t think hellhounds like bestiality.”

“I’ll smite them!” he threw out, clearly getting aggravated with this discussion.

“You got enough juice in ya?”

“Honey, I always have enough juice.”

And then Balthazar was gone.

“Wait, where’d he go?” Sam asked.

Dean found him, sighed, and lowered his head against his arms.

Balthazar was down in the yard by the building, smiting something they couldn’t see, light burning through the night. Now his position was inevitably clear to both of them and their enemies.

“We’d better go help him,” Sam said.

“Yep.”

The burning purity of another being like himself made itself known to him, and Castiel did his best to not show any signs of it. It was easy at this point. Any slight movement, any facial expression, any sound could be due to pain, and it usually was. He couldn’t hear what Crowley was saying anymore. Wasn’t sure if he was still in the six-hundreds, if maybe he was in the seven-hundreds, or possibly even the eight-hundreds.

Could angels pass out from pain, from their blood being drained by an angel blade?

He was going to be the first to find out.

By this point he couldn’t cry out, could only whimper, and whine, and mumble, spit dribbling past bloodied lips, and Crowley would lightly tap his cheeks as if that would somehow get him to react more. Castiel suspected that a Devil’s Gate could open up in that very room and he wouldn’t even react; he didn’t have the strength, or even the presence of mind.

The pain was too much.

The angel drew closer, and with it, demonic entities died out, and it was as if the air grew fresher, even within the room tainted with the smell of his own blood.

It dripped from him incessantly, the table and floor a crimson mess.

Crowley was rambling again — about what, he didn’t know. Probably something to do with him always following Sam and Dean’s orders and how he was a slave to them. At this point Castiel couldn’t argue. Maybe he was right. Why did he do anything anyway? It was for them. Always for them.

But where would he be without them?

Still a soldier who took orders and didn’t ask questions. Just another grunt amongst the ranks of Heaven, someone who would’ve killed Sam if he’d gone too far, someone who would’ve been content to drive Dean to commit himself to Michael. An angel who only cared about God’s supposed plan instead of caring about humanity.

They had taught him there was more than just the endless rules of Heaven, more than the “purity” the angels preached, more than God’s plan.

There was humanity.

There was Sam and Dean.

Battle sounded outside: banging, yelling, a ringing of Enochian and Grace, the meaty _ sphhhlt! _ of a knife driving home into a body.

Crowley’s attention turned to the door, and Castiel wished he’d had the energy to smile.

“Feathers, what have you done?”

He couldn’t answer.

“What have you done?!”

Castiel tried getting words out, and only a broken mumble left him.

The King of Hell leaned in closer, cupping his ear.

“What? Speak louder so the whole class can hear.”

Castiel forced the word out of him, using the ripped muscles around his lungs, his tired vocal cords, and he formed it with stinging lips. It passed out into the air: “_Bitch._”

The door slammed in.

The fighting didn’t stop so much as pour into the doorway, but there was a heavy silence and tension that seemed to enter the room, and Castiel tilted his head, neck straining to see who had entered first.

Dean.

He closed his eyes.

He hadn’t wanted Dean to be the first in, hadn’t wanted him to see him like this, not before someone had told him what to be prepared for.

Dean didn’t run screaming at Crowley, even as blood dripped off of his demon-killing knife, and Crowley didn’t run full-tilt at Dean. They just began to circle each other, movements slow. Crowley seemed to be sizing him up, in more ways than one, as if he’d like to eat him for dinner, or perhaps even have him as dessert. Dean kept glancing over at Cas, mouth agape.

“Isn’t he, beautiful? Carved him up myself.”

“Is he… Is he still alive?”

“Cas!” Crowley called. “Twitch your toes or something so your boyfriend knows I haven’t killed you.”

“_Mm_… ‘ean,” he forced out.

“Cas? Oh-oh my god, Cas!”

He tried to run to him, and Crowley got in front, brandishing the angel blade.

“Not another step further.”

Dean stood there, panting.

Sam shouted from out in the hallway, a dog whined and howled. Dean’s lip curled as if he was torn, wanting to be in two places at once. Bright light began to shine in, as if Balthazar was taking care of the problem.

There was a thump, and Crowley’s free hand curled into a fist.

“Was that Juliet?”

Balthazar strolled in, wiping his hands off, covered in red and black blood, and looking quite the mess.

“Hmm?”

“Did you just kill my dog?”

“Oh yes, she was very bitey.” He then made a lot of gnashing motions with his teeth. “Got Sam in the thigh.”

“I’ll kill you for that!” Crowley screamed.

“Balthazar, tell me you got some mojo left,” Dean prayed.

He gave a nervous smile. “That might be a problem.”

“You think you can come in here, kill my guards, my dogs. I have a deal with this angel!” He pointed at him, and Castiel shied away, which upset all his wounds, and he whined. “He goes through this to keep his two little human pets _ safe_. Now none of you are getting off. When we first met we had that little deal of taking out the Devil, thought we were playing at being gods, and then he showed us all we were children and he was the real god! But I’m no child. You are. All of you! I can play the game. And I play it well. I’ve been doing it for _ centuries _ to get where I am, to get to the top. I’m the _ king_, bitches. I clawed and scraped for this position while you’re still all lying in your own filth.”

By this point of Crowley’s speech Sam had limped into the room, hand on his heavily bleeding thigh.

“This is my world for the taking,” he went on. “Castiel is mine. You all are mine. And Balthazar _ will _ die for killing _ my dog! _

“But I like a good game.” His voice mellowed out now, and he went up to Dean patting him on the cheek, hand then running down his neck to his chest, and Dean had his head drawn back in disgust. “I’ll give you all a good headstart. You get Castiel for today. Then you run. And I won’t be far behind.”

He backed away from Dean, eyeing both him and Sam, and Castiel was sure he winked at them even though he couldn’t see it from his position (it was just a very Crowley thing to do with what he said next): “And boys… I bite.”

The King of Hell vanished.

Dean sheathed his knife, rushing forward, and Sam tried to limp towards Castiel as well, but Balthazar went to him, healing his leg in white light.

Castiel had been hung at about chest height for Crowley, meaning he was a little closer to Dean’s stomach, and he waved his hands all over him as if he didn’t know what to do, or where to touch him.

“C-Cas.”

“Dean… I’m sorry.”

There were tears in his friend’s eyes. “God, no, you don’t have to be sorry.”

“Dean, I—”

Immense pain cut him off as Sam came over and started doing the smart thing — undoing some of the ropes.

He clenched his teeth, groaning, and Balthazar had his hands against Castiel’s back, which only had him wincing.

“Okay, okay, Cassie. It’ll be alright,” he tried to soothe, though his voice barely did anything to draw him from his haze.

“Heal him!” Dean shouted.

“Yes, yes. I was getting to that.”

There was a cool hand against Castiel’s forehead, and then he felt Grace pouring into him, but not enough. Angels were a bit like stars at times: beautiful, dangerous, powerful, light… finite. All the energy that was in the universe already existed, no new energy could be created, and so, even given their angelic nature, they sometimes had to wait for their Grace to be replenished. And they would take here and there from stars, from galaxies where there wasn’t any life, from ideas that God had just begun to play with. But Balthazar hadn’t had time to do so, and he was tired from the fight.

Castiel could feel it as his Grace filled him and ran through his body. The angel above him began to grunt, and then he was crying out, the light emanating from his palm growing weaker.

He heaved out a sigh, body slumping, the light dying.

Many of Castiel’s injuries had healed, his muscles sewing themselves back together, even quite a bit of his skin newly fresh and raw, but he was still gravely injured.

An exhausted and frustrated sound left Balthazar. “I’m sorry, Cassie, that’s all I can do.”

“We’ll take it from here,” Sam assured.

He was lowered to the floor, and Dean threw his coat over him. His face was mostly healed, save for a few cuts, and a few on his lip, but there was enough space without hurt for Dean to caress his cheek, giving him a comforting smile.

“Hey, we’re gonna get you somewhere safe, alright?”

Funny he could say that now that Crowley would be after all of them.

Castiel wondered how that would affect his outcome in the civil war, and he worried, but for now he supposed he needed to get better, and he needed time with the Winchesters, a reminder as to why he was fighting this war against Raphael.

It was for them.

“You think you can get dressed?”

“Pants seem uncomfortable,” he admitted.

He could still feel cuts along his backside and his genitals, and he was _ not _ looking forward to forcing himself into clothes.

“Well, Baby’s had me and Sam naked in her before, I’m sure she won’t mind you. Besides, you’re not too bad lookin’.”

Castiel found himself blushing, and then Dean was blushing, and Sam was awkwardly clearing his throat.

Balthazar started laughing.

Balthazar had just enough “angel mojo,” as Dean called it, to fly somewhere, and Sam and Dean carried Castiel out and got him into the back seat. Sam drove as Dean stayed in the back with Castiel, propping him up against his chest, arm about his shoulders. He yelled at Sam every once in awhile about getting them to a damn motel or else he was “gonna build one right friggin’ here, god damn it.”

Castiel was shaking. It made Dean hold him tighter, breathe more shallowly, pace quickened, but he couldn’t help it.

“It’s gonna be okay, Cas. It’s gonna be okay. I gotcha. I gotcha, alright? Almost there. Sam, is your foot even on the fucking gas?!”

“Dean, shut up! It’s starting to rain, okay? I don’t want to hydroplane.”

“Hydroplane, my ass!”

Sam beeped the horn, seemingly at nobody, as no one was around at this hour, and Castiel supposed it was at Dean.

Dean growled.

They hit a bump in the road, and Castiel cried out, grabbing onto Dean’s arm with more force, nails digging into his clothes.

“It’s alright, baby. Sorry.”

He’d been calling him _ buddy _ earlier in the car ride. Castiel wasn’t quite sure when he’d switched to _ baby_, but he wasn’t complaining.

Sam eventually found a motel, and after paying, the two of them hurried him inside. Castiel usually didn’t mind the rain — in fact, he hardly noticed it — but now he despised it for those few seconds he was out in it, Dean doing his best to cover him up with his overcoat as he helped him inside.

Cas collapsed onto the nearest bed, groaning.

“Towels. We need towels,” Sam said.

Dean snapped his fingers, pointing. “Bathroom.” Then he addressed him, kneeling by the bed as he switched the lamp on, “Alright, how long’s it take to heal from this kind of thing?”

“I… I don’t… know.”

“Alright, alright. Well, we’ll patch you up, let you chug a bottle of aspirin, and see how it takes.”

Castiel closed his eyes as Sam and Dean set about doing what they needed to: turning all the lights on, getting their gear from the Impala, and beginning to clean the blood from his skin so they could see his wounds. None of them spoke about the obvious problem that was the cuts in between his legs. Cas figured Dean would handle those.

At one point Sam left for a bit to get something they needed, and Dean stayed, just holding Cas’ hand, rubbing his knuckles. He let him have sips of his alcohol as he took aspirin, and he told him what they’d been up to.

“—took down a Black Dog over in Connecticut, then jumped over to Maine to check out a haunting. They called her the uh… the ‘Ghost Bride,’ yeah, over in Haynesville Woods. Super creepy. You would’ve loved it. Bride comes up by the side of the road, still in her wedding dress, and tells you she and her husband got in a car accident and need help. We could’ve used you back there. Would’ve been nice to grab some dinner with you too, you know? Then we were—”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

He stopped, tilting his head towards him, green eyes all big.

“You’re rambling.”

“Oh, am I?”

“It’s endearing.”

“Oh.”

His friend looked down, was blushing red now, and Castiel frowned.

“Did I say something wrong?”

Dean scratched at the back of his head, not meeting him in the eyes. “No, no. It’s just uh… No one’s ever said that to me before. Usually I get the uh… ‘You’re cute,’ ‘You’re hot,’ ‘You’re sexy,’ You wanna top me?’”

“Top?” Castiel asked, confused.

“It’s a queer thing.”

“Are you… queer?”

Dean shrugged. “Think we’re all a little bi, you know?”

“And… would you like… topping?” Castiel asked, not sure how to carry on this conversation. It wasn’t often he thought of human sexuality and gender. 

When it came to angels you just possessed whoever said yes, whether they be biologically male or female or identified as a different gender than the sex they were assigned at birth. Castiel felt male, but he’d been in a woman’s body before, and he’d been perfectly fine with that. He had liked his vessel then, though had still been called _ he_. Some angels were in vessels who were called _ they_, and that was alright.

And as far as sexuality went, angels could find themselves attracted to whichever gender they pleased. For angels it wasn’t so much the gender as it was the being.

For humans, the gender seemed to matter more.

He knew some of the different sexualities, but didn’t know the terms that went along with those sexualities, and what they meant.

He had to admit, this was distracting him from his pain.

“Kinda, maybe…” Dean admitted, now getting up and standing, still rubbing at the back of his head.

“Look, I’ve kinda done it before, okay? But don’t tell Sam. This is between you and me, got it?”

Castiel tried to nod, but it upset a wound at the back of his neck.

“Understood,” he told him.

“I think… I think I’d be more into the other thing, you know?”

“The other thing.”

“Yeah, um… You know, being-being…” Dean’s face was red, and he was barely breathing, sweat beading on his forehead. He eventually let out a huge puff of air. “Look, I can’t say it. Let’s just get back to talking about gore and shit, okay?”

“Alright, what happened after the Ghost Bride?”

And so Dean kept rambling until Sam got back. He’d gotten dissolvable stitches from a 24-hour pharmacy.

The brothers set to work on him, cleaning his wounds (he couldn’t get infections, but Dean didn’t want anything “gettin’ stuck in there”), and then onto stitching. Castiel gripped the bedframe once they were done with his arms. Before that he’d held onto the sheets, balling his hands into fists. After a certain point he’d cracked the wood, splintering it, and now he held onto Dean, telling them, and himself, that he would be gentle.

Dean’s body seemed flushed, but Castiel couldn’t smell what emotion it was from, the tension in the room too high, exhaustion pouring off of both men.

“Alright, um… This is gonna be weird,” Dean said, now moving the towel covering Castiel’s pelvis aside.

“Dean, I’m in far too much pain for it to be weird.”

“Okay, well, I’ll get your hip,” Sam told him.

“Thank you,” Castiel said. “Both of you.”

It hurt where Sam and Dean tended to him, especially given how many nerve endings the body had in those areas, and how his skin was still so pink and new, and he was pretty sure at least one layer was missing in some places. His chest was heaving, and he was panting, body arching up, free hand clawing at the bed, the one on Dean tensing, but not clenching harder, not wanting to hurt him.

Dean was gentle with him, but the needle wasn’t. Sam was good to him too, had large hands, but knew how to not be rough with them. At least his friends knew what they were doing, though he was sure Dean had never had to stitch up genitalia before. That was something nurses did in a birthing ward, not something hunters did in a motel room with an angel who’d gotten tortured.

But perhaps they’d both experienced such agonies before, as the victim.

They’d both been to Hell.

They gave him sympathetic winces, and behind the cold compartmentalization, he was sure he saw heartache, tears, the need to comfort.

Maybe they loved him.

He loved them.

It was why he hated himself for the way things had gone with Crowley.

Oh, how it had all gone so wrong.

He tilted his head back, tears streaking down his face and into his hair.

As Dean would say, he’d royally screwed up. He’d fucked up. This was on him. Their deaths, his surely soon-to-be loss in the civil war, the Apocalypse… it would all be on him.

Castiel screamed through his teeth, and neither Sam or Dean asked him if he was okay.

They knew he wasn’t.

Castiel wished that angels could sleep. Sam was sleeping, having a nightmare about the hellhound bite. Usually in this stage of unconsciousness he’d go over and ease his dreams, but moving hurt too much. He’d rolled onto his side after they’d stitched him up and he’d gotten a pair of Dean’s sweatpants on and now he’d just been lying there, feeling himself slowly heal.

Dean was awake, sitting out on the little porch the motel had. He’d insisted upon taking first watch, though he’d surely been up for far too long. He had the demon-killing knife (now-cleaned), and his pistol, which could really only aid in slowing them down. There was a Devil’s Trap spray-painted in red onto the top of the porch’s overhang. Castiel had watched from the window as Dean had put it up, his belly poking out from under his shirt as he lifted his arms up.

It was nice to notice the small things like that, to not try and shut out his surroundings as a demon tortured him. Now there was no Crowley, no cold walls, and no blood. There was this.

Eventually Sam’s nightmare became too much for him, and the younger Winchester was writhing on his bed, whimpering, sweating, his right leg — which had been the one that had gotten bitten — all clenched up.

Castiel heaved himself out of bed, groaning.

Sam didn’t wake. Dean shifted on the porch, but didn’t move from his position, probably figuring keeping watch was more important.

Okay, just a few steps and he’d be close enough to help him. Sam turned towards him, pulse in his neck jumping, head tilted back in the bed. He could feel the images in his head, feel the teeth ripping into his leg, sharp, jaws crushing, bruising. And then the wound hadn’t burned or stung; it’d ached, throbbed, and Sam had been in so much pain he’d wanted to separate from the wound. He wanted it now even with it being healed. Castiel knew Dean sometimes felt the same way about the injuries and inevitable death he’d suffered from the hellhounds, and he wished he could take it away from both of them, but this was the best he could do. He reached out and placed his hand against Sam’s forehead, closing his eyes and focusing in on the nightmare; on black shadows, and red eyes, and massive teeth. On blood.

He transformed the blood to cool, trickling water, the shadows to flowers, the dog to a beautiful golden retriever that lolled its tongue and ran beside Sam as he laughed in a field of red poppies and golden coreopsis. Sam took control from there, was younger in the dream, a child, only about nine or ten. He laughed, and fell to his knees, hugging the dog.

Castiel smiled, and he withdrew, not wanting to impede on his friend’s privacy anymore.

Then, since he was already out of bed, he supposed he could go outside and join Dean. 

The hunter immediately relinquished his seat when Castiel opened the door and came out, though he argued, “Cas, you should be in bed.”

“It’s boring.”

“Yeah, it’s supposed to be.”

Cas glared at him as he sat down, a blanket drawn about his bare shoulders that he’d taken from the end of the bed, and Dean held his hands up relentingly.

He yawned, and leaned against one of the rails, Castiel watching the very human act.

“I can take over,” he told him.

Dean shook his head. “No, no. You need rest.”

“I don’t sleep.”

“Yeah, but like, I don’t know. What do angels do to recharge? You just turn yourself off and turn yourself back on again?”

Castiel raised his eyebrow at him, tilting his head up so he could make it look like he was looking down at Dean though he was the one sitting. He didn’t understand what he’d meant, but he didn’t want to be the one left behind in the conversation, and he knew this look with his enemies tended to assert dominance.

Dean swallowed roughly, and lowered his head.

“Right. Um…”

There was some silence for a bit, Dean clearing his throat, and then his friend asked, “You gonna tell me how you ended up with Crowley?”

“No.”

“Alright, alright. Well, look, we haven’t really been talkin’, Cas, you and me, and I miss it. I miss you. What’s going on? It isn’t just the torture, okay? There’s something else.”

“Dean, I’m looking after you.”

“Yeah? Doesn’t feel like it.” He was turned away from him now, muscled shoulders tight with agitation.

“Dean, I don’t want to do this.”

“Then when?” he asked, turning back to him, arms out. “When are we gonna do this? Never? I… I _ can’t _ keep doing this, Cas! I can’t be here, knowing you’re up there somewhere, or-or out in the world, doing god knows what for-for _ me! _ What if someone gets hurt?”

“Dean,” Castiel gruffly explained, turmoil rising up in his chest, secrets he had to keep from him lying heavy on his tongue, “the ones who get hurt deserve it. They’re on the wrong side. They’re not on my side.”

“And what side is this, huh? Am I on your side?”

Castiel grabbed the arms of the chair and used them to push himself up, helping himself stand. He grunted, shaking, and he fell into Dean, put a hand to his chest to remain steady. And then he firmly held his face.

Staring into his eyes he told him, “Dean, you are always on my side, and I am always on your side.”

Dean was searching his eyes, something Cas could see even in the dim light, the beautiful green traveling back and forth. Tears were building in his vision.

“Cas, what if I lose you? I can’t even ask if you’ll get hurt. You _ did _ get hurt. The way you were when we found you… I can’t do that again.”

“Dean.”

“No, Cas. No.” He started backing away. “You and Sam are all I got. And Sam’s got that wall so there’s no hanky panky with the Devil, but once it’s gone it’s gone. And once you’re gone…” He sighed, and headed towards the door. “Fine, if you wanted watch duty, you got it.”

Castiel winced, reaching out, and he grabbed his hand, managing to intertwine a few of their fingers. His grip was weak, leaving Dean as the one with the power. Dean stared down at their hands, and then met his eyes, other hand glued to the doorknob.

“Dean,” Castiel began, trying to speak gently to him, “I’ve often thought of the dangers of human companionship, of how short your lives are compared to mine. But I have died before, as have you. And I brought you back, and something brought me back. And because of it the two of us are here together. Another angel could have been assigned to you. I was just a grunt, but I got the duty. I was the one who was given the honor to raise you and piece you back together, to see the man you truly are. And now I know how profoundly painful it would be to lose you, and I understand that the hurt must go both ways. But what happened today, it was my doing, my own fault.” He grit his teeth, tears in his eyes, lips trembling as he explained, “Crowley wanted to hurt you in unimaginable ways. And I couldn’t let him do that. So I gave myself to him. I gave myself to him so you could be safe.”

If Dean’s body had been getting held up by a string before, that string had suddenly been cut, and he turned, falling to his knees, his hands holding his.

“Cas, you didn’t have to do that.”

He pressed his forehead against Dean’s, just needing to feel close to him, and his breath was on his face. He closed his eyes, inhaling his musky scent, his emotions: something bitter and nearly sweet. Helplessness. And Castiel wished to wrap his wings around him and protect him.

“I did. I did,” he told him. “And now I have to fix it.”

“No, no, Cas, I don’t want you doin’ anything, alright? You stay with us for awhile. Please.”

“What you’re asking of me, Dean, is too great. I have responsibilities—”

“Fuck ‘em. Stay with me.”

“Dean—”

“Please.”

Dean leaned in closer as if he was trying to press his body against his, and their noses brushed together. Castiel wanted to kiss him, but he knew if he did that it would hurt, the cuts on his lips still too fresh. Dean seemed to understand, just brought a hand up to caress his cheek, drawing his thumb down to the corner of his lip.

“It’s been hell without you,” he nearly whispered, tone soft. “Look, I know you’re hurt. I know this isn’t about me. I just want you to know that…”

He trailed off, breath catching in his throat, and Castiel felt the same happen for him. Dean’s lips were then pressed firmly against his cheek, close to his mouth, and Castiel put a hand to the back of his head, holding him there.

Now Castiel held Dean’s face, looking into his eyes, hoping he saw in them what he was trying to convey: Dean wasn’t alone in this.

“I-I know I shouldn’t— You’re an angel, but—”

“And you’re a human.”

“Could we?”

“We broke God’s plan, Dean,” Castiel told him. “So… how would you say it?” He tilted his head up as he tried to think about it, and then when it came to him he smiled and looked back down at him, saying, “We can do whatever the fuck we want.”

Dean kissed Castiel on the lips, and Castiel didn’t mind the pain.

Staying with the Winchesters while he healed wasn’t terrible. Castiel wouldn’t describe it as great just because he was constantly receiving news and giving orders over angel radio, so he seemed neglectful to his physical surroundings.

Eventually the messages grew tired, frustrated, and he worried more factions would be created in the civil war because he was missing in action. Castiel had to leave before he was fully healed.

Aside from that there was lots of moving around between states, middle of the night escapes, blood, some shooting, Devil’s Traps, salted windows — all side effects of being hunted by Crowley’s demons. But Sam and Dean could handle it on their own, so it was time to go.

So he said his goodbyes, making sure his talk with Sam was heartwarming, truly enjoying his time with him, and feeling achingly guilty about his soul, and then he said goodbye to Dean.

Dean was more difficult.

He didn’t want him to go, and he insisted on going with him, wherever it was he went.

“Dean, you can’t,” he told him.

They were talking as they sat on the hood of the Impala. Castiel had never sat there before, but Dean had let him know it was fine. Sam was inside cleaning up from breakfast.

“Why not? I’ll take Sammy with me. You two get along fine. He’ll want to come.”

“I’m doing things that are too dangerous for you. Besides, humans aren’t allowed in Heaven unless they’re dead.”

Then Dean did a series of things that were odd: he lifted his shirt just enough to pull his pistol from his waistband, checked that it was loaded, then handed it to Cas.

“Well, here you go. Aim for the head.”

Castiel just stared.

Dean cracked a smile.

“I’m kidding. Give that back.”

He smiled uneasily, not understanding the humor in it, but glad to see Dean enjoying himself, and handed him the gun back.

“Do you trust me, Dean?” Castiel asked after awhile of them just sitting there.

“You want me to be honest?”

Castiel nodded.

“No. But hey, this life, it gets messy. We get blood on our hands, skeletons in the closet.”

“That’s it?”

Dean _ hmmph_ed, then asked, “What, you want me to go all psycho and lock you up? ‘Cause I can do that too. The urge is definitely in there. I know it’s messed up. I should trust the people around me, right? But, well… things get bad and I just start swingin’, and if I do ask questions I don’t give a damn what the answers are. I don’t trust you right now. I don’t even trust Sam about his own head. But I still care about you. I don’t know, maybe I’m screwed up.”

“So where does that leave us?”

“A really sexy future hookup?” he joked.

“_Dean._”

“Fine, fine. Look, you’re one of the few people I got in my life. I ain’t gonna lose that. So you stay close when you can. We’ll figure it out, and if either of us starts acting like we took some crazy pills, we’ll just talk each other down, got it? And if that doesn’t work...”

“Dean, no.”

“We gotta have something in place.”

“I won’t get like that.”

“I don’t know that. You don’t know that. Sometimes there is no fixing it and you just gotta pull the trigger. It’s what my dad taught me. It’s what I grew up on.”

“Maybe he was wrong.”

Dean shook his head, a bitter laugh leaving him. “No. No, he was damn right. So… we agreed?”

Castiel didn’t want to, but he knew there was no way of getting out of this conversation. But he’d have ways of becoming more powerful than Dean, of being able to get out of being put down, of being with Dean as long as possible even if Dean grew too dangerous, so he heaved out, “Yes.”

Dean then immediately switched the topic as if it had never happened, “Cool, so where’re you headed?”

“I can’t tell you.”

Some sort of low growling noise left Dean’s chest at that, but he didn’t say anything else.

Still, it didn’t stop them from kissing. It held more anger and pent up emotion than affection, but it was good to be touching Dean, to know they were both alive.

And then Castiel flew away. Time to find Crowley.

He did find him. The King of Hell was back in his stinking monster hole, as if he had wanted Castiel to meet him there.

“Ah, so you caught up to me before I could catch up to you. Dean been good to you? He stuff all your holes?”

Castiel had his blade out. He was not here to make any deals that would put himself, or Sam and Dean, in danger.

“Crowley, enough.”

“Fine, let’s skip the foreplay.”

Crowley’s eyes turned blood red.

“You will leave Sam and Dean alone,” Castiel told him as they began circling each other, Castiel making sure his eyes were glowing blue, golden-white light emanating from him, wings showing as black shadows behind him.

“Or what? You’ll smite me? You need me.”

“And you need me. I’ve kept the angels from you. I could change that.”

“I’m sure you could, but then I’ll have some countermeasures put in place. You won’t feel a thing, but I’m sure your little pets will. Face it, I win here. I don’t even need to kill you. You’re already my bitch.”

“No countermeasures.”

“Oh? Then what, darling? As much as I love this dance, you’re not very good at it.”

Castiel slammed into him, ramming against the wall, not afraid for himself in that moment, only thinking of humanity, of the two humans who mattered most to him, of why he was doing all of this. The stone cracked as he pressed harder, Crowley gasping, fingers prying at his arm.

Castiel got up close, blade against Crowley’s throat, and he growled out, “And you’re doing the dance all wrong. I don’t need you. I’ve been to Hell, and I survived. _ Twice_. I’ve seen the depravity of your kind, the way you crawl on you bellies in the mud, unable to see past your own sins. You’re all the same, Crowley. And I can fight all of them. I can fight you. The monsters in the dark? They are nothing to me. I am light, a soldier of Heaven. The monsters will surrender Purgatory to me, and I will become a new God, and I will step on your back and _ break it_.”

Castiel pulled back ever so slightly, and Crowley’s eyes were back to the human brown. A demon didn’t usually shake with fear, but this one was doing so.

“And Crowley…”

Castiel sliced shallowly into his neck, drawing blood.

“One-thousand.”


End file.
